Elena’s POV
After that first meeting, time stopped behaving normally. Days didn’t pass—they sparkled. Like someone cranked up the thermostat on my life and snapped the dial clean off.
Every morning, right on cue, Ethan appeared at my office door with coffee. Black. No sugar. Exactly how I liked it. And always that smile—easy, warm, dangerous.
“Good morning, Elena,” he’d say, voice low and smooth, like it knew things about me.
I’d take the cup, nod like a professional adult woman, and absolutely not acknowledge the way my heart did a full sprint in my chest.
Pretending lasted about a week.
By Friday, we were staying late almost every night. The client pitch was breathing down our necks, and I needed someone sharp, reliable, and willing to lose track of time with me.
Enter: Ethan.
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